


unreal

by softnow



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fictober, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-25 09:58:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softnow/pseuds/softnow
Summary: he will need this until the day he dies. maybe longer.





	unreal

**Author's Note:**

> fictober day 4!

She feels better than he ever thought possible beneath him. Against him. Around him. God, around him. He can barely breathe, it’s so good.

Her hands in his hair hold him close as he meets her hips again, again. She’s so slick for him, wet like the ocean, hot as the sun. He can hardly believe it.

He kisses her mouth—her soft, perfect mouth—and she opens for him like a flower, lets him sip from her, take his fill. He will never be full. He will need this until the day he dies. Maybe longer. He’s never felt anything so right.

She’s a vice around him, and when she lifts her knees higher along his sides, he feels like he’s falling. Plunging. He’s never been so deep in a woman, never felt like he could crawl right in and make himself a home.

“Baby,” he murmurs against her lips and she sighs, arches, holds him tighter. “Scully.”

He thought he’d lost her once. But she’s here. Right here. Red hair on his pillow (when’d he get a bed?), blue eyes open, brimming with tears. He feels it too, this thing between them. It’s elemental. Essential. It’s every good thing he’s ever done. It’s every good thing he could ever be.

Her heart beats against his chest and he covers it with his palm, cradles her breast in his hand and strokes her soft, soft skin. She moans beneath him, writhes against him. She is beautiful, so beautiful, and he is dizzy.

“Mulder,” she gasps when he pushes all of the way in and grinds. She is the sweetest thing. “ _Oh_.”

He rests his forehead against hers when it becomes too much, the feel and smell and sound of her, overwhelming. She stares up at him, eyes locked, open, trusting.

“I love you,” he whispers. He does. He does. He loves her so much it hurts.

She digs her nails into his shoulder and shakes her head.

“I  _love_  you,” he says again.

“You don’t,” she pants, and he can feel her coming, can feel the way her body ripples for him.

“I do,” he chokes. “Scully, I do.”

“No,” she says, tugging him right over the edge with the roll of her hips. He falls, spills into her, even as she pushes him away. “You  _lost_  me.”

“Scully—”

He jerks upright on the couch, her name dying on his lips. His stomach is wet, sticky. His cock aches.

He scrabbles at his chest and finds the long chain, wraps it around his fingers and brings her cross to his lips. The metal is sour.

He lost her.

He  _lost_  her.

He holds her cross on his tongue. Holds his head in his hands. Please, God, please, he prays, doubled over, shivering and sick. I’m so sorry, please. I’m so, so sorry.

It doesn’t bring her back.


End file.
